


It Takes a Village

by Neophobia



Series: DRV3 Coffee Shop AU [1]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And Kaito's gonna make sure he gets it, And a Hug, Gen, Hurt Ouma, Hurt/Comfort, Neglect, Ouma deserves love, Oumota Week 2018, Pre-Relationship, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 02:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14707775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neophobia/pseuds/Neophobia
Summary: In which taking care of a sick Ouma is a one-man job, a two-man effort, and a pain in the ass for everyone involved.





	It Takes a Village

**Author's Note:**

> I got this out in time for Oumota week! (even though I was going for day 5 I guess I'll just post this on day 7 lol) Honestly can't believe it, partly because exams finished up this week and partly because this became a 20-page monster.. and it doesn't even have actual Oumota in it (besides Kaito taking care of Ouma that is and just being a good guy to him). Although I'm planning for this to be part of a larger series where Oumota eventual does happen, don't expect any kissing in this installment!
> 
> This is also my first time writing canon Kaito and Ouma so it was a bit of a challenge, not gonna lie... but it was also a ton of fun! But since I want to write more of them in the future, feedback is very much appreciated. And with that, I hope you enjoy!

Kaito is dripping with water. Mother nature is unforgiving and unrelenting, sending down torrents upon torrents of rain onto his head with a clap of thunder or two in between, just to taunt him. And as cool as space is, Kaito can’t help but think that the stuff that separates them from the rest of the infinite universe _really sucks_ sometimes.

But even as rain continues to pelt at his poor, soggy mop of (previously) gelled hair, he pauses at the unsheltered foot of Ouma’s supposed apartment complex. He checks Shuichi’s text to confirm the address, and then again a second time.

Maybe it’s the rain, but this doesn’t seem like a place where a trickster like Ouma would live. Apartment complexes this close to the city usually have a bustle about them even on the saddest days, but here there’s a hush floating in the air even with the loud beating of the rain, with most of the curtains are drawn the lights out. Even the few hunched-over people quietly shuffling about towards their homes somehow make the place seem emptier than it would’ve been otherwise.

He assumes Shuichi’s visited before. No wonder he wanted to make rice porridge for the brat. Their co-worker-slash-devil-slash-fucking nuisance Ouma, who has an affinity for lying and a shit-eating grin affixed to his face since he came out of the womb (or so Kaito assumes). Shuichi had mentioned Ouma lived alone—but Kaito thinks anyone would feel alone living in this place.

Shit. This place is making him wax poetry. No wonder Ouma takes so many shifts—he can’t imagine the guy would enjoy sitting here all day and being miserable with everyone else in this place.

Kaito hurries up the steps in case any more deep introspection decides to follow him (it doesn’t, thank god, because he’s too focused on how his legs are dying after the four flights of stairs he’s climbed. No wonder Ouma jumps around so much without breaking a sweat. The lack of an elevator is definitely against disability laws. _God_ ). The bundle beneath the crook of his arm doesn’t help his plight. He can feel the porridge inside slosh against the container walls in almost a violent manner, and he hopes if the contents have turned into complete soup by now it would’ve at least had the decency to go up a few degrees in temperature after going cold on the way here.

That’s not how science works, but he’s hefting porridge up four flights of stairs with water clogging every piece of fabric sticking to his body—nature could afford to give him a break.

Ouma’s apartment looks the same as everyone else’s. Not even a welcome mat to distinguish it from those around it. Kaito’s reminded of his own apartment adorned with potted plants and all kinds of ‘bless this mess’ signs (courtesy of his mother).

Maybe Ouma’s just not one for decorating. But Kaito expects some kind of joy buzzer sound when he presses the doorbell _at the very least_ , and it’s only when the standard three-note chime rings in the air that he realizes he shouldn’t be expecting anything remotely Ouma-like to show itself in this place.

And that includes the trickster himself.

The door creaks open and the first thing out of Kaito’s mouth is: “You look like shit.”

“Language,” Ouma says. Or he would have, if he hadn't been interrupted by a coughing fit for a 100 year old hag, not a teenager that’s looking too much like a neglected puppy for Kaito’s liking. Ouma’s hair—which is pretty unkempt most days—looks like a rat’s nest of dead-looking strands flying about in every direction. Dark circles are embedded under his eyes, a stark contrast to his glazed over eyes that are—  Kaito presumes—bright with fever. His fingers tremble slightly while gripping the door handle with white knuckles, and Ouma’s body is angled against the door like he’s putting all his weight into holding it open. Kaito reaches out a hand on impulse, to see if he can steady him before he topples over, but the other teen gives him a mean glare when he gets close.

“What’d you catch?”

“Cancer.” Which is a typical Ouma answer, so that doesn’t concern Kaito as much as the raspy tone of the guy’s voice.

“Are you okay?” The words are awkward on his tongue, especially when they’re directed at Ouma. But he’s determined to cut through Ouma’s bullshit.

“Cancer makes people—” a cough. “—die, Momota-chan. So I’m dying! And if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to die in peace so—” Ouma attempts to swing the door shut before he can even blink, but Kaito catches the edge with one hand and forces it back open. They struggle for half a second but it’s barely a contest. Like arm wrestling an infant.

“Cut the shit, you’re not fucking dying,” Kaito snaps. “Let me in.”

He makes a move as if to force past Ouma into the apartment, but immediately jolts back when Ouma lets out a shrill, hoarse scream.

“Oh my god,” he says, heart hammering in his ears. The scream had been all-too-real. He scans Ouma up and down for a sign of injury, but he can’t see anything out of place (besides what he’d already seen was out of place, which was everything). “What is it?”

“Momota-chan, you’re attempting to force yourself into my house. Any rational person would scream. And I’ll scream more,” Ouma threatens. Kaito groans.

“Say you’re not going to try to close the door again, then.”

“Okay, I won’t try to close the door again.” Ouma’s eyes are big and clear and aimed directly at Kaito.

“That’s a fucking lie.”

Ouma laughs, and then his laughs dissolve into coughs, and then reverts back to laughter again. All in the span of a couple seconds. Kaito is highly unnerved, but when he takes a tentative step forward to steady the guy, the laughter stops abruptly and is replaced by a mean glare. “Has Saihara-chan been giving you detective lessons?”

“Anyone who’s met you could figure that one out.” Kaito snorts. “Speaking of Shuichi, that’s why I’m here. He told me to bring you this.” He holds up the package in his other hand.

“Aw Momota-chan, I thought you came to visit me out of the kindness of your heart, but you’re just here to do some measly errand. I'm a little disappointed.” But his gaze isn’t on Kaito anymore. It’s fixated to the package with a longing Kaito’s only ever seen in starving alley cats or lovestruck teenagers. Maybe because it’s from Shuichi. “But I guess it can’t be helped. Can I have my present now?”

Kaito stares down, hard. “Not until you let me into the house.”

Ouma draws back, disdain twisting his face. “This is blackmail, you know that right? Trying to force yourself into my house with leverage you have on me is _blackmail_ , Momota-chan, and I’m going to tell Saihara-chan and have him arrest you—” a hacking cough wretches itself from Ouma’s mouth—”For _blackmail._ ”

“Alright, I get it, I’m a blackmailer.” Kaito rolls his eyes, doesn’t bring up the fact that Ouma sounds pretty fever-crazed and shouldn’t be trusting his ability to do anything at the moment. Doesn’t mention the audible hiccups of breath he hears rattling in Ouma’s chest. He’d definitely be chased off if he did. “But Shuichi won’t give a shit because he knows I’m doing this for your sake.”

Ouma eyes him and the bundle in his hand, and Kaito can almost see the gears turning in the teen’s head, weighing and reweighing the costs and benefits of different scenarios.

“Or I could just leave and eat this myself.”

Ouma stares, horror crossing his face and a brief flash of raw, unfiltered _pain_ at the mere suggestion. Looking at him closely in the dim light—he looks too thin.

“...You’re detestable,” Ouma mutters, finally moving away from the door and letting it creak open. “Using Saihara-chan’s precious cooking in this way. Just horrible. Low-handed.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re one to talk.” Kaito’s more focused on the state of the apartment. It’s pitch-black in the place, the single beam of light from the doorway only making out pale outlines of furniture squished far too close together. Kaito does make out the basic living essentials between what he assumes is a bunch of useless crap, and the faint glimmer of a metallic appliance on the far left. A microwave, he hopes, because Shuichi’s soup has cooled down quite a bit judging by the cold surface of the soup container.

When he goes to flick on the lights, Ouma’s hand immediately slaps him away.

“ _What?_ ”

“The light’s bad for my health,” Ouma says all matter-of-fact, like he’s not spewing nonsense out of his mouth. “A certified witch told me so.”

Kaito lets out a sigh of frustration. “Then how am I supposed to move around in here without falling all over your junk?”

“Why would you want to move around? I let you into my house. Deal complete. There was nothing about moving _around_ in my house. Unless Momota-chan was lying about that?” Ouma’s eyes flash, and Kaito knows he’s dug himself into a corner.

“I was just trying to heat up your damn soup for you.”

“Just because I have a little cough doesn’t mean I’m open to having _blackmailers_ stomp through my house.”

“I’m not—” Kaito sighs, running an impatient hand through his still-damp hair. “This was Shuichi’s idea, alright? I don’t know why he bothers when you’re such a little shit.” He sets down the soup on the hardwood floor and turns to leave. “You definitely have more than a little cough, by the way.”

Ouma ignores him, instead hefting the soup into his arms and clutching it tight to his chest. “I’m coming back with a vengeance in a few days, don’t you worry, Momota-chan."

But then, just as Kaito is passing through the door frame—”And close the door. It’s cold.”

There’s a strange inflection in Ouma’s voice that makes him look back. A breeze blows past Kaito, created from a sweeping torrent of rain outside, and he sees a violent shiver rack through Ouma’s small, drawn-in shoulders just as the boy turns away, the darkness of the apartment pulling him in until the outline of his body is a hazy black.

Kaito closes the door. The hollow thunk of the metal is quickly drowned out by the pouring rain. He stands there for a while to see if Ouma will peek through the curtains to verify that he’s gone—

But there’s nobody. And Kaito leaves.

* * *

When Shuichi approaches him the next day to ask how it went (despite Shuichi having contacted him through a string of text messages the night before to make sure Kaito had found the place alright, hadn’t murdered or been murdered, etc), Kaito does him the long and tedious deed of narrating the whole incident scene-by-scene.

“He’s… he’s distant,” Shuichi says sheepishly when he’s finished. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but he tries to keep to himself most of the time.”

“You call pestering all his co-workers with pranks on a weekly basis ‘keeping to himself?’” Kaito snorts, jerking down the handle of the espresso machine. “Shuichi, you’re great, but I think you’re blinded by your own kindness sometimes.”

“Not that kind of keep to himself, it’s, it’s more like—” The bell at the door chimes and both of them immediately turn and greet the customer with loud and slightly-smaller-but-still-loud voices. A habit that’s been drilled into them by the owner Kirigiri-san during employee training.

“It’s just me, idiots,” Maki huffs, tossing her schoolbag down behind the counter.

“Welcome aboard, Harumaki.” Kaito grins and tries to give her a friendly slap on the back, but Maki dodges out of the way with the speed of lightning itself.

“Don’t touch me.” She moves away to grab an apron, but Kaito doesn’t miss the brush of red on her cheeks. “Saihara, I don’t know how you put up with him three days out of six.” Kaito notices she fails to mention that she technically puts up with him _every_ day, considering they go to the same school. And she doesn’t try to avoid him at school either. Her supposed hatred doesn’t have a lot going for it.

“I think it’s, you know, alright…”

“There’s my trustworthy Shuichi!” Kaito grins, giving Shuichi the same slap on the back he meant to give Maki. Shuichi stumbles forward a little bit, but gives him a shy smile. “Anyone would love to get a taste of this camaraderie!”

Maki rolls her eyes. “No thanks. Although, I guess working with you is better than working with Ouma. Which I do most of the time.”

Shuichi pushes his lips together, words clearly on the verge of coming out—a classic Shuichi gesture—but he seems to think better of it. “Um, speaking of which, Ouma-kun’s not going to be coming in today. So I’ll be taking over his shift.”

She looks surprised. “He never skips.”

“He’s sick, um, been sick. Since Wednesday.”

This is news to Kaito. “Didn’t Ouma come in Wednesday evening? I saw him while I was leaving shift, he looked alright then.” But Wednesday makes sense, more sense than the sickness suddenly coming down yesterday morning. There’s no way a cold would get that bad in the course of half a day, not to the degree Kaito witnessed yesterday.

Shuichi presses his lips together again. “He did, but he wasn’t looking great at school, but he… joked it off. When I told him to head home. And… well, you know how it is to reason with him. And Thursday he was saying the same thing, so I—”

He’s drowned out by the chatter of a large group of schoolgirls that come bustling in, officially marking the start of the after-school rush. One of the downsides (and upsides, for Kirigiri-san) of being smack-dab middle of all the local high schools. The three of them are at their respective stations within a second, braced for the oncoming slew of sleep-deprived teenagers.

Conversation after that is dominated by order shout-outs and calls for more espresso beans and cups. An hour in, Kaito’s head is dizzy with the scent of brewing coffee and the occasional whiffs of caramel, ears thrumming from the buzz of the espresso machines and acoustic indie music warbling over their 10-year-old speakers.

Does he like the job? Well, it pays alright. Since he’s at register almost all the time, he ends up accumulating a fair amount of tips. And his co-workers are the greatest, of course, especially the trio they’ve got going on today. Since they fall a bit short of being friends (according to Maki—Kaito thinks otherwise), he could sum up their relationship by saying they’re three parts of a well-oiled machine. They’re pretty much unstoppable behind the counter, which isn’t an exaggeration because he’s got the reviews (and a hefty pile of tips) to prove it. Shifts with the three of them are the best ones.

The complete opposite of that is having a shift with Ouma, which is pretty much impossible to avoid on a weekly basis since the guy takes on so many shifts. Heck, maybe Ouma’s daily dose of mischief might border on manageable if they didn’t have to deal with it so often. Most of his jokes and tricks are harmless, but every so often he’ll throw in a comment that hits where it hurts, leading most of the others to keep at a distance. Of course, Ouma being Ouma, finds it funny when people get pissed at him, so he stick his stupid nose into their space even more.

 Even with Shuichi insisting that Ouma isn’t all too bad, Kaito finds it hard to fault Maki for generally disliking the little brat.

He doesn’t get along with Ouma. Although Kaito genuinely thinks the jokester is harmless, he hates that Ouma knows _exactly_ how to piss him off at any moment in time. Kaito will be the first to admit that he’s gotten close to sticking the guy’s head into a bag of coffee beans numerous times. It’s a sentiment he shares with all of the other teenage part-timers (minus Shuichi, who is somehow immune to Ouma’s advances, or maybe just immune to getting pissed-off in general).

Still, Kaito’s not heartless. He remembers seeing Ouma yesterday. Any sane person would have a bit of sympathy for the kid after seeing a trembling, miserable sight like that. Even with the (feeble) quips he was handing out, Ouma wasn’t himself. He’d prefer a hundred of Ouma’s stupid pranks than seeing him be so… foreign.

Which is why when—five past seven, just when Kaito gets off the clock—a purple-haired boy comes stumbling through the entrance with at least five layers of jackets on his shoulders, Kaito’s first reaction is to just…freeze. With anger, with shock—he’s not sure.

Shuichi has a bit more sense than him, thank god. He rushes to Ouma and wraps a supporting arm around him with one hand and pushes past limp, messy bangs to put his other hand on Ouma’s forehead before he has a chance to react.

Shuichi’s hand seems to register with him a split second later as Ouma yanks himself out of Shuichi’s grasp and teeters a bit to the side. “Wow, Saihara-chan,” Ouma says, voice muffled by the cotton mask over his mouth, “I didn’t think you’d be so excited to see me.”

Maki emerges from behind the counter and grasps Ouma’s side. Apparently Kaito wasn’t the only one who was frozen from shock (thankfully, since it was kind of idiotic to freeze in place and stay there). He quickly follows suit, securing Ouma’s other side.

“He’s burning up,” Shuichi informs the two of them as they haul Ouma into a straighter position, straighter than the hunched-over posture the teen had coming in. Even with who-knows-how-many layers of clothing, Ouma is shockingly light.

“The only one burning will be you all,” Ouma mutters, wriggling in their grasp. “When Kirigiri-san finds out you left the counter unattended, that is. And I’ll definitely tell if you don’t let go. And you don’t have to hold so tight!” Ouma snaps. His voice is strained, as if saying the words through clenched teeth. “Just because I have a _little_ cold doesn’t mean my legs are broken.”

“You’re making a scene,” Maki snaps back. Kaito glances around, and yeah, they’re drawing the uneasy glances of the few onlooking customers near the entrance tables. “Why didn’t you come around the back?”

Ouma doesn’t respond, merely struggles harder, but the answer is obvious. Ouma walks to the cafe from the subway station, and the subway station is directly north from the main entrance. Since the cafe is connected to other buildings on either side, it takes a few extra minutes to walk around the building to enter from the back, not to mention the back door is in a rather wind-tunnel-like alleyway. If Ouma’s legs were barely keeping him up when he came through the front door, well, Kaito can imagine he would’ve found the trickster sprawled out on the back street as he left for home.

Ouma’s doing a good job of hiding the fact that he could pass out at any moment. He even manages to break from both him and Maki’s grips once they haul him into the back room. After a brief exchange of glances, Maki disappears to man the register, leaving him and Shuichi to deal with a cross-armed, irritated Ouma whose breaths are nothing but breathy little rasps in the silence of the storage room.

“Ouma-kun,” Shuichi says, brows pinched together. “You can’t work like this.”

It’s amazing how Shuichi’s got him all figured out. Kaito was thinking they’d have to drag Ouma’s motivations out of him. But what Shuichi said makes more sense than Ouma coming to… spread the sickness to them or whatever. Which is what Kaito had been thinking.

“You’re crazy if you think you’re working in this state,” Kaito blurts. “And seriously, you’re telling me he came to _work_? You’re out of your mind, you know about Kirigiri-san’s sickness policy. No-tolerance.”

“Ah, but Momota-chan,” Ouma chides, “How am I supposed to be a productive member of society if I don’t come into work? And plus, you say I’m evil and stuff all the time. No rest for the wicked and all that, don’t you think, Momota-chan?” His eyes are feverishly bright, but they’d convey enthusiasm to anyone who didn’t know better. It’s probably the impression Ouma wants to give off. God, he’s really planning on working today.

“You sounded pretty convinced that you were dying when I talked to you yesterday. Cancer, remember?”

“That was a lie,” Ouma responds without missing a beat. “Even I would have to go to the hospital if I had cancer. Not for anything else, though. I’m pretty indestructible.”

“Did you eat the food I sent over?” Shuichi asks suddenly. His gaze is piercing, analytical. “And the one I sent you this morning?”

“I did.” Kaito can just imagine Ouma’s childlike grin from under the mask. “That’s why you’re the greatest, Saihara-chan! Oh, and for taking my shift yesterday too. You’re really my hero,” Ouma says, eyelashes fluttering (Kaito hopes it’s for dramatic effect and not him struggling to stay conscious). “And you’ve defeated the worst of the sickness so you’re relieved of your duty, quest completed and all that. Now, I’m ready to work!”

Kaito grabs Ouma’s wrist just as he’s about to dart away. There’s a sharp intake of breath and the beginnings of a pained whine from the shorter boy before it’s abruptly choked off. Kaito releases his grip almost immediately but doesn’t hesitate to take the opportunity to position himself between Ouma and the door.

He’s pretty sure he sees what’s going on here.

“Shuichi, I think I can convince Ouma to leave, but just. Give us a sec. Alone.”

“Don’t let him fool you, Saihara-chan!” Ouma whines. “He’s a bad, bad man.”

Shuichi shoots him a weary look. “...I trust you,” he says. “I know you won’t go at Ouma-kun’s throat when he’s sick. And I know you have a plan.” He turns towards the door. “Five minutes, okay?”

Ouma makes another attempt to slip through the door behind Shuichi, but Kaito manages to block his path once again. “You’re pretty easy to figure out once I figure out your tricks, huh? You know, you’re not doing Shuichi a favor by dropping dead on the floor.”

“Momota-chan, I don’t know what nonsense you’re spewing and I think you’ve caught the sickness from me yesterday. You should really go home and lie down and eat some of Saihara-chan’s soup, it really helped me. To get better.” Ouma glares. “Plus, didn’t we just establish that what I said yesterday was a lie and I’m _not_ dying? I hate repeating myself.”

“You could’ve fooled me. You could’ve fooled anyone out there right now. I’m honestly surprised that you made it all the way here without someone calling the ambulance. Or maybe the morgue.”

“Well Momota-chan, humans don’t give a shit about each other and as a result, you shouldn’t give a shit about me. And I don’t give a shit about you. Win-win. So just—” A hitch in Ouma’s breath cuts him off, and underneath the layers of clothes, a faint shudder racks Ouma’s chest.

Kaito sees it coming, a second before Ouma’s knees buckle and give out beneath him. Luckily, Kaito catches him before he crashes to the ground and instead helps him into a semi-kneeling position against the wall. Ouma leans into the solid cement, bracing head against the wall with his right arm while bringing his trembling left arm to his mouth. For an instant Kaito thinks Ouma’s going to throw up and gets ready to bolt for the nearest bucket. But then he sees Ouma’s shaking hand fumble for something behind his ear. The mask drops to the floor as Ouma drinks in mouthfuls of oxygen that heave through his entire body. Kaito, at a loss for what to do, settles on rubbing small circles into Ouma’s back like he used to do with his siblings when they were sick. Soon, the heaving turns into shallow gasping, like a man struggling for oxygen after running a marathon. The thought doesn’t make Kaito feel any better.

“Goddammit, Ouma.”

“Impressed?” He catches Ouma smile from between the limp strands of hair hanging over his face. “I know you are, Momota-chan, don’t deny it.”

“Stop it with your bullshit. It’s pretty obvious now that you can’t work at all.”

“Not to me,” Ouma protests, but even his voice sounds weak, none of the confidence it had a few moments ago.

Kaito sighs. “Listen, if you feel that bad about Shuichi taking your shift, why don’t I take it. It’ll stop you from almost killing yourself and from Shuichi worrying himself to death over your sorry ass.”

“You’re putting words into my mouth, you liar, I never said any of that.”

“You also didn’t say that you were on the verge of collapsing, but here we are. Listen,” Kaito quickly says just as Ouma opens his mouth again, “I’m not trying to argue, I’m offering a proposition. You like those, right? And this proposition is a pretty sweet one for you. Not to mention that you said, just a few seconds ago, that you didn’t give a shit about me, so this doesn’t cost you anything.”

“Well, you’re right about that. But you’re saying that the oh-so-great-and-mighty Momota-chan isn’t going to make any demands?”

“Just one. Promise me you’ll stay here and _rest_ until the end of my shift. Then you’ll let me bring you home.”

Ouma has the gall to snicker at him. “Wow, Momota-chan. Just to let you know, I’m more of a wine-and-dine type.”

“Didn’t I just tell you to cut it with your bullshit?” Kaito growls. He really doesn’t have the patience for this. “Tell Shuichi to bring you home, then. But it’d be a miracle if you made it home by yourself with your sorry state. With my luck, you’re going to faint at the subway station and do something stupid like fall into the tracks, and I’m not going to have that kind of guilt on my conscious.”

“Aw, Momota-chan cares~” Ouma coos, shifting to lean his back against the wall. He tilts his head upward and lets his eyes slide shut like this was his plan all along, like he’s satisfied with this outcome—this ending where he and Kaito are crouched together on the ground of a damp and grimy storage room floor. “After your passionate speech, I guess I can’t say no. I’ll spare some sympathy for you.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Kaito sighs and lifts himself from the ground with a grunt. “I’m going to tell Shuichi. Stay here and don’t try to go anywhere.”

“Of course not Momota-chan, we made a deal after all. Liar’s honor.”

Ouma puts a hand on his heart with the sincerest expression Kaito’s ever seen, and he’s going to be the sick one if this continues on. He doesn’t bother gracing the midget with an answer.

It takes a bit of convincing to get Shuichi to go home. He keeps glancing at the back room door like Ouma’s blood is going to seep out and pool on the ground. Shuichi’s surprisingly stubborn when he wants to be, Kaito thinks, head throbbing. Not only that, but he uses logic to tie his argument into knots—it’s hard to counter, especially when Kaito knows that his own actions aren’t operating on any sort of sense. And neither are Ouma’s.

“I can take him home,” Shuichi insists for the fifth time. Kaito sighs and rubs his temples.

“Listen, you can take him up on it but he’s not going to budge an inch. You know the guy.” The frown on Shuichi’s face says he’s still unconvinced. “It’s either this or he’s going to start trying to work again,” Kaito adds. “And that’ll go well.”

“Momota’s right,” Maki speaks up. She’s been cleaning off the countertops and refilling syrup dispensers, but it doesn’t surprise Kaito that she’s been following the conversation at the same time. “Plus, you worked double shift yesterday too. It’s only fair that Momota works today. And,” she adds, glaring when Shuichi opens his mouth (he snaps it shut again), “I don’t think we should be negotiating with him right now. I hate to say it, but he seems in bad shape. Just let him pass out already.”

Shuichi’s stern frown finally wavers. “Alright,” he says, gathering his stuff from the clothes rack. “I’m just going to say bye, maybe try moving him to Kirigiri-san’s office.”

Kaito thinks it’s a futile effort and is proven right when Shuichi reappears only a few moments later. Kaito finishes taking down a customer’s order (with less zeal than he usually displays in his work) and turns to Shuichi with an upturned eyebrow.

“Fast asleep,” Shuichi explains, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. Kaito’s curiosity must be written all over his face. “I didn’t want to disturb him, so I put my coat…I just hope it’s not cold.”

Kaito thinks of the various layers of jackets Ouma was wearing when he waddled in. “I think he’ll be fine. But if he starts shivering or anything, I’ll get a space heater in there.” He extends a fist towards Shuichi. “Nice work.”

Shuichi returns the fist bump with a smile. “Goodnight, Momota-kun. Harukawa-san.”

There’s a steady stream of customers that keeps the two of them busy for a while. Slow enough that Kaito’s hasn’t risen above a socially-appropriate volume (which is what it does on the busiest days, it rises to basketball-coach level and never comes back down), but fast enough that he can’t afford to spare a few seconds and check in on Ouma. Because that’d entail letting Maki handle register. And Kaito wouldn’t be able to sleep soundly for a few nights if he forced her to go on register. She hates it like most of his co-workers do (except Ouma, but only because it gives him a chance to screw with the customers; Kirigiri-san banned him from taking register a couple weeks ago), but she’s the only one out of his co-workers that knows how to handle a variety of weapons while also knowing where he lives. Kaito doesn’t mind, because he’s good at talking with people and only knows what maybe one or two buttons do out of the dozens that are on the various machines and blenders in the back, but it puts him in a tight spot in regard to Ouma. Because Maki hates Ouma too.

He spends a minute or two weighing the two options in his head while he rings up the customer. After sending the guy off with an energetic, “Thanks for coming!” he briefly turns away from the next person in line towards Maki, who’s lingering around the various humming machines, waiting for each one to complete whatever they’re doing. “Hey, Harumaki, could you check on Ouma real quick?”

Maki pauses, her eyes darting from Kaito to the espresso machine to the back door. “Alright,” she says, and promptly disappears. It’s a quick decision, quicker than Kaito had expected and with a lot less resistance. A pleasant surprise, because Kaito hates arguing with Maki over anything.

 But then again, Ouma stumbling through the door like he’s on his last legs is an image that would shock anyone with a sliver of decency. And as much as she tries to deny it, Maki passes the standards for “decent human” with flying colors. More often than not, she’s pretty great.

Kaito dishes out his five-star customer service smile and apologizes for the brief wait, and what can I get for you today? Thankfully, the guy is a stern-looking businessman who wants hot coffee, nothing fancy. Kaito knows how to make that and the order of the guy before him as well (coffee with caramel and cream). He retreats from the register, pours two shots into two cups and pumps one of them full of caramel, mixes cream into the other, pours hot water into both and serves. Kirigiri-san has strict regulations for the ratio of caramel versus coffee and cream versus coffee that he completely tosses out the window (in his defense, he doesn’t know them), and decides it’s a success when neither of the customers come back asking for a refund. As for the regulations, what Kirigiri-san doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

But it has been a while since Maki went to check on Ouma. Seeing no other customers approaching (and instead of doing his job, like wiping down some of the nearby tables—again, what Kirigiri-san doesn’t know won’t hurt her), he heads to the back himself.

“Harumaki?” He opens the storage room door and is hit in the face with a blast of stifling warm air. When he steps in, Maki is curled over Ouma’s form with a space heater placed next to her. As she gets up, Kaito sees that a long, black coat has been added to the pile of jackets on top of Ouma’s. He can barely see the nest of Ouma’s ratty purple hair and pale face peeking out from beneath. Ouma looks peaceful. Still.

“Oh, you got a heater in here, good work!” He smiles. “I was wondering why you were taking a bit, but I should’ve known—”

“Momota,” she interrupts, voice sharp. “I think Ouma needs an ambulance.”

His smile drops.

“He was barely breathing when I got into the room,” she continues, twisting her fingers into her her hair. “He wasn’t moving. Not even shivering, even though he was freezing when I felt his forehead. I figured I had to raise his temperature, so I brought in a heater and my jacket. I tried waking him up, but he hasn’t been responsive. I was going to get you, but I didn’t want to…”

 _Leave him_. The words hang in the air, unsaid. But taking a closer look at Ouma, Kaito gets it. Ouma looks horrible. What little color is usually in his cheeks have fled completely, leaving behind what might as well be a porcelain doll with how pale he is. Ouma’s cheeks are a bit sunken in; the guy’s always been bony but he’s really starting to look like a skeleton now. The only thing that separates him from the image of death is the soft whistle of breath every so often from between his lips. Kaito wonders, stomach swirling, if a mere cold can really be this bad.

“Shit.”

“Try waking him up,” Maki commands. “The internet said to give him some hot water, and if anything can wake him up, it’s your loud voice.”

“Geez, I mean, I guess it’s true, but way to put it bluntly,” Kaito grumbles. The banter is half-hearted, though, because he can’t drag his eyes off Ouma’s lifeless face. His chest twists. “Give me a sec, I’m calling for backup.” Taking out his phone, Kaito sends off two rapid fire texts, one to the work group chat asking if anyone is free to take register, that there’s been an emergency. The other text is to Shuichi.

_Me: [8:15 PM] meet me at downtown hospital, ouma sick_

Maki’s gone by the time he turns back to Ouma. “Hey, Ouma, get up. We have to get you warm.” He pats Ouma’s face lightly. His skin is like ice to the touch. Louder, Kaito shouts, “Ouma, get a grip! Wake up!” He grabs the boy’s shoulders. “You’re gonna die if you don’t, are you really gonna do this? You said you weren’t gonna die, remember?!”

Kaito takes a sharp intake of breath when Ouma’s eyes open a fraction. “Momo…ta-chan?” Ouma rasps, words barely forming in his mouth. “I…ha…are y-you cra…cradling me… r-right now?” Ouma laughs once, then freezes up as a round of coughs overtakes him. Kaito’s grip tightens as he tries to stabilize him, to keep him grounded.

“Stop talking, dammit.” Maki emerges from seemingly nowhere and passes him a cup of steaming water. Her speed scares the shit out of him sometimes, but he’s thankful for it here. “Drink this,” Kaito orders, bringing it to Ouma’s lips.

“Cold,” Ouma mutters, then twists his face when the water touches his lips. “Hot.”

“Just drink it, trust me.”

“A-anytime…Momota-chan. I’d trust you…” Ouma falls silent, closing his eyes as gulps of water go down his throat with the help of Kaito.

“Should we call an ambulance?” Maki asks.

“Wait a sec.” Kaito checks his phone once Ouma’s finished with the water. There are several new texts.

_Amami Avacado: [8:16 PM] I’m free, I’ll be down_

_Amami Avacado: [8:16 PM] In a couple minutes_

_Amami Avacado: [8:17 PM] I’ll get an explanation down there, right?_

_Chabashiraaaaa: [8:19 PM] Omg did something happen did people break in_

_Chabashiraaaaa: [8:19 PM] Should I come too?????_

_Shirogane: [8:20 PM] Chabashira-san I don’t think Momota-kun would’ve asked for a substitute if a robbery was going on_

_Shirogane: [8:20 PM] But Momota-kun I thought Ouma-kun was working today? If you need backup I’m here_

_Chabashiraaaaa: [8:21 PM] Even if there’s no robbers I can come!!!!_

_Scary boss lady: [8:21 PM] Momota, I was also under the impression that you weren’t working evening shift today, Saihara was. Is this a serious matter? Do you need me to come in?_

Fuck. Kirigiri-san. Muttering apologies, he types out:

_Me: [8:23 PM] I’m sorry Kirigiri-san it’s a bit complicated if you come down I’m sure Harumaki can explain but you don’t need to trouble yourself_

_Me: [8:23 PM] I promise we’ve got everything_

_Me: [8:24 PM] Thanks Amami I’ll buy you bread later_

“Okay, Amami’s coming to take over for me. Call the ambulance, I’ll ride down to the hospital with Ouma.”

“Hospital?” Ouma twists his face again. “You can’t…force me…I don’t want…”

“Ouma, shut up and calm down. But don’t go to sleep,” Kaito adds, panic rising. He doesn’t want to know what’d happen if Ouma were to lose consciousness in this state.

Maki snaps her phone shut. “Done. I told them to come through the back, so you should stay here and open the door for them.” She sighs. “I guess this means I have to run register.”

“Amami will be here soon, you only have to last a couple minutes.” He gives her a thumbs up.  “Thanks, Harumaki, for dealing with all this. You’re the best.”

“Shut up, if anyone should be thanking me it should be Ouma, not you.” Maki’s eyes sweep over the cocoon of jackets that is Ouma. Seems to meet his glazed eyes. “Just make sure he doesn’t do something stupid, like die.”

Ouma mutters something unintelligible, but Kaito thinks he catches ‘Harukawa-chan’ at the end. He supposes that’ll be as close as Maki gets to gratitude. “See you later, Harumaki.”

“You better keep me updated, idiot,” she says, and the door closes behind her.

* * *

He thanks whatever deity is out there with all his heart when the ambulance arrives mere minutes later. Ouma’s been slipping further and further away, and every time it’s been harder to snap him back to being fully awake. Kaito’s glad to be saved from the stuffiness of the overheated room, from the cold touch of Ouma’s skin, from Ouma’s glazed-over eyes. He’s pushed out of the way by the paramedics as they haul Ouma onto a stretcher, untangling him from the layers of jackets keeping him safe from the cold. Kaito thinks he sees Ouma shiver once and hopes it’s a good sign.

He watches in a daze as they put an oxygen mask over Ouma’s face, as they check his heartbeat using a cold disk of metal that disappears under his shirt. For a split second, Kaito wants to shout that Ouma is cold enough as it is but realizes how ridiculous that would sound. They’re doing their jobs, they’ll make him better.

But seeing him laid bare on that stretcher is too intimate for Kaito. Too disturbing. Too much like the boy he saw at the apartment complex a day ago, voice raspy, curled in on himself, coughs strangling him between words. That Ouma. He honest-to-god hopes this is the last he’ll see of that Ouma. Because this isn’t Ouma, this shouldn’t be Ouma.

 _Maybe it is, maybe it was the entire time._ His mind whispers. _How do you think he got so bad so quickly?_

He wants to not think about it. He wants his mind to shut the fuck up.

Once they arrive at the hospital, just before they cart Ouma away, Kaito squeezes Ouma’s ice-cold hand dangling off the stretcher. He doesn’t know why he does it, doesn’t even know if Ouma’s conscious enough to feel it. But Kaito hopes it’s some comfort—or maybe it’s just comfort for himself.

He waits in the hallway. He paces angrilly from side to side, takes angry swigs from the lone water cooler at the side of the wall. It can’t be that bad, he tells himself. It just can’t.

The little positive energy in him is beginning to fade (astoundingly, considering Kaito thinks that he’s a pretty positive person) when Shuichi bursts through the doors, clearly out of breath. Kaito’s impressed—Shuichi lives at least 45 minutes away and he’s managed to come here in about 30. He’s not the most athletic of guys either. “Shuichi, yo, thanks for coming. Knew I could count on you. I don’t know any of his personal information that they might need, and I figured you’d know since…you know about Ouma the most out of all of us.”

“Of course,” Shuichi says, waving him off. Concern is scrawled all over his face. “But if it’s the hospital…is Ouma-kun…did something bad..?”

Shuichi’s obviously asking a question he knows the answer to, judging by the deep frown etched into his forehead. Kaito tells him everything, about how Maki found him to be in bad condition, about how she tried to warm him up, how he was unresponsive for a while. He’s just after the part where Amami offered to take over when the doctor comes in. Both Kaito and Shuichi jump up out of their seats.

“Come in,” he says. “Ouma-kun is stabilized.”

Ouma gives them a grin and a weak little wave as they come in. He’s swaddled in a bundle of blankets, not unlike the cocoon they’d made with jackets back at the cafe.

“Are you okay?” Shuichi asks immediately. Ouma rolls his eyes.

“It’s just a little cold, Saihara-chan.” Even with the characteristic grin on his face, Ouma doesn’t look like himself. “You’re so sweet, visiting little ol’ me all the way here.”

“Hypothermia’s my diagnosis,” the doctor’s saying, flipping through his charts. “Pretty severe hypothermia too, which isn’t too surprising considering the temperature and the cold he seems to have. He’s malnourished as well. I suspect this has been with him for a few days, although I have no clue how it’d get so bad without anyone noticing the signs.

Shuichi puts a hand to his chin and Kaito can see the gears in his brain turning, trying to puzzle it out. “Ouma-kun,” Shuichi begins, slowly. “When I went to your house the other day, it seemed pretty cold in there. Why was that?”

Kaito can see it in his memory. The dark entranceway. The freezing atmosphere. Kaito had chalked it up to him being wet at the time, but it had been strangely cold in there, hadn’t it?

“I like it cold,” Ouma rasps, eyes narrowing, lips almost in a pout if not for his oxygen mask.

“And you barely had anything in your fridge.”

“Wasn’t hungry, too sick to go out,” he snaps back. But Kaito knows it’s a lie, remembers the way Ouma was staring at the container of soup like a starving animal.

“You knew you were sick. You went out. You _walked_ —” Anger bubbles in Kaito’s chest like a slow-burning stew, heat rising to the top and chasing out all the worry from before. “You _walked_ all the way to the cafe in the cold, don’t give me that bullshit excuse of _you weren’t able to go out—_ are you that much of a _dumbass?_ Stop _fucking lying!_ ”

Kaito curls his lip and lunges towards Ouma, only to be stopped by Shuichi grabbing his elbow and pulling him back.

“M-Momota-kun, anger won’t help!” Shuichi exclaims. The doctor besides him is clutching his clipboard to his chest, nodding at Shuichi’s words.

“Do it, beat me up Momota-chan,” Ouma says, voice barely above a whisper. “After all, I’ve been _such_ an inconvenience, right? I deserve this, right?”

His violet eyes raise to meet Kaito’s, narrowed, edging him on. Kaito stops struggling against Shuichi’s grasp.

“Sorry,” he says to Shuichi, maybe half to Ouma if his heart was in it. “That wasn’t cool.”

The doctor mutters something to Shuichi about having to fill in forms. “I’m…I’m a relative.” Kaito can’t believe how easily the lie passes through Shuichi’s lips. Curiously, out of the corner of his eye, Kaito sees Ouma bunch his fists into the folds of his sheets, eyes glinting dangerously. If Shuichi notices, he doesn’t comment. “Momota-kun… do I need to bring you along?”

It’s a thinly-veiled threat. “I can handle myself, I just…” Kaito sighs, all fight going out of him with the release of breath. “Long day.”

Shuichi gives him a concerned glance. “Trust you. Ouma-kun’s feeling worse than he shows, so…just…”

“I got it, don’t worry. I’m not an asshole, I’m not gonna kick him while he’s down.”

“I trust you.” With one last glance at Ouma’s bed, Shuichi follows the doctor out of the room.

The instant Shuichi is gone, Kaito blurts out, “I didn’t get mad because, because you’re an inconvenience or something stupid like that. Don’t fuck around with me like that, is that how you really think I am?”

“I don’t know, Momota-chan, are you really like that?” Ouma rasps. “I don’t know, maybe you have a hidden side to yourself that you don’t want to show anyone. Everyone does, don’t they?”

“I just want to set the record straight with you,” Kaito growls. “I’d never get angry at anyone because they’re some sort of, of, of inconvenience, alright? That’s bullshit. Goes against my whole philosophy as a person.”

“Oooh, philosophy. Big word, Momota-chan.”

“And I got mad at you because I think it’s just fucking stupid to risk yourself for… for what, Shuichi’s sake? So you can relieve him of one shift? Is this some sort of weird trust issue thing? Some sort of guilt complex?”

“My existence is a huge pile of guilt,” Ouma states drily.

“He clearly cares,” Kaito says, forcing himself to swallow down any anger. “And you can’t even give him the truth about anything when he’s falling over himself hoping you’re okay. Don’t you at least owe him that? Owe it to the people who care? It’s fucking bullshit, having him deduce it out.”

He seems to have touched a nerve, because Ouma jerks upright, fingers digging into the covers of the mattress. “You want the truth, Momota-chan?” he hisses. “Well then, here’s the truth: rent went up unexpectedly this month and I didn’t budget properly, I haven’t been able to pay the bills so heating’s shut off, so I’ve been cutting down on grocery bills. Working at the cafe is the only place I can get money and free food, so I couldn’t afford to miss a shift, which is why I dragged myself all the way down there today while I was sick.” Ouma scoffs. “As dear as Saihara-chan is to me, I’m obviously too fucking selfish to do anything like that for _him_.” He spits out the last word and Kaito recoils. When referring to Shuichi, Ouma’s voice is either all-too-kind or sickly sweet. Never bitter, never poisonous. “I’m disappointed, Momota-chan, you should’ve known me better. Is this the truth you wanted to hear? Disappointing, isn’t it, that your fears are confirmed that I’m nothing but a piece of shit after all, huh?”

Ouma’s voice is almost gone by the time he’s done, and ragged breaths rattle in the hollow of his lungs. He crosses his arms tightly, looking away, grin twisting his features. “If you think I’m some sort of martyr, you can toss those ideas straight out. I’m flattered, Momota-chan, but this is the truth. It’s what you wanted.”

A silence rings through the room. It’s a long time before Kaito says anything.

 “...If your goal was for me to get me to hate you or some crap, you failed.”

“Do I have to have a goal? It’s the truth.”

“Is it?” Kaito demands, drawing himself up. “Would a self-proclaimed liar ever tell the whole truth? Tell me this: why didn’t you just ask for help?”

“Who would help? Don’t act dumb Momota-chan, I’m not the most well-liked kid around the block. That’s you,” Ouma says, grinning at him.

“Didn’t we all help you today? Hasn’t Shuichi been helping you the whole time?” Realization dawn on Kaito. He knows how to corner Ouma. “If you really didn’t want help,” Kaito says slowly, “You would’ve stayed home. You would’ve tried to get better on your own.”

“Are you that dumb, Momota-chan? I just told you, I needed the money and the food.”

“But you’re not that dumb either. You know we wouldn’t have let you work in your state, especially with the sickness policy.”

“Maybe I am that dumb. I’m telling you, hidden sides to everyone.”

“Cut the bullshit, you’re fucking not.” He may not be as smart or as good at piecing things together as Shuichi is, but it’s all come together, one-by-one. “You wanted something else, didn’t you?”

Ouma is silent. He’s fuming, but he’s silent.

“Anyone should be able to feel like they can ask for help when they need it,” Kaito says. He moves closer to Ouma, despite the death glare he’s giving him. “We didn’t let you feel that way. I’m not fucking heartless. I’m sorry, Ouma.”

“You didn’t _not_ let me feel anything, so kindly shut up Momota-chan,” Ouma hisses. “All you did was give me hospital bills and a headache with your loudmouth-ness.”

“We can pool money to cover the bills. And your heating bills, for a while. You can pay us back later if you want, or not.”

“Momota—”

Shuichi comes in just then, cutting Ouma short. “Ouma-kun, you’ll... have to stay here for one or two days, the doctor said. I called Kirigiri-san explaining the situation, and she said that she knew the head nurse in the hospital…so don’t worry about costs, okay?” Shuichi smiles, and Ouma glares at Kaito over Shuichi’s shoulder. “I-I’m really sorry,” Shuichi blubbers, misreading the glare, poor guy. “I know you hate being cooped up, but I’m sure it’s better for you to rest.”

“We can bring you toys,” Kaito pipes up. There’s even a smile dancing on his face, and he feels that he’s officially gone crazy. Ouma looks at him like he has.

“Momota-chan is scaring me a little, Saihara-chan.” Ouma lets out a big, hefty sigh. “I just want to sleep.”

“W-we’ll let you rest, Ouma-kun. I’ll come visit tomorrow.”

“I’ll come too,” Kaito adds. “With Harumaki maybe.”

“Saihara-chan,” Ouma says, closing his eyes. “Please keep Momota-chan and that scary lady away from me.”

On behalf of Maki, Kaito’s a little offended. “No guarantee, Ouma-kun,” says Saihara, shooting a questioning glance at him as if asking when they got so close. Kaito shrugs.

As they leave, Kaito steals one last glance at Ouma. He’s fallen back asleep. He looks peaceful, like he hasn’t been cooped up inside with no heat and no food for two days straight. He doesn’t look like the usual, healthy, mischievous Ouma he’s most familiar with, but not like the fragile thing he saw a day ago. It’s a different Ouma, but in a good way.

Kaito decides to bring the rest of his coworkers here tomorrow, even if he has to force them. Ouma may not appreciate the attention, but he’s sure he’ll appreciate the company.


End file.
